


The lies the survivor tells himself are his only solace

by Astray



Series: I re di che? [2]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo e Giulietta - Ama e Cambia il Mondo, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: Benvolio POV, Benvolio is too kind, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Romeo is an ass, everyone dies still, the author regrets everything by now, too much unrequited love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1332667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benvolio Montague is an observer - and rarely does he act. He saw his best friend, the one he loved the most, die for a feud that was not his. He saw the one he should have hated die through cowardice, and felt no relief. And even though Romeo was to blame, he could not hate him either. And so, Benvolio watched, helpless, as Verona crumbled around him and her youth bled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The lies the survivor tells himself are his only solace

**Author's Note:**

> Also based on the italian musical - but really, that's more for my headcanon, because he's always way too kind. To me, Benvolio is an underrated character - there is so much more to him than just a cousin and a friend. 
> 
> I realized as I was writing that Benvolio always come second or in the middle. Poor him.

Benvolio was an observer. He had no wish to fight when it would not make any difference and he knew that Mercutio would resent him for even thinking about it. Mercutio said great a many things - that he was not scared that he cared not to die - that he eould die for Romeo. And Benvolio could tell Mercutio lied. Mercutio, the only one who could be free of the feud. As though he was born Montague. Benvolio watched his best friend, the one he loved best in this rotten city. He watched him stagger and fall. He heard him speak of Queen Mab. He heard the bitterness in his voice and it was a raw wound. The kings, of what? Mercutio followed dreams only he could see. And Benvolio felt like dying - he died every time Mercutio came back to him - broken, trampled. Benvolio did not care because it was Mercutio and he was alive; he was with him. No, what hurt Benvolio more was how Mercutio treated himself. A whore would be kinder. He wished he could heal his soul, stop the bleeding of his torn heart. And he believed - until all he mended Romeo unwittingly tore at it. But now Mercutio was dead - and forgotten by all. And Benvolio was still besides him, because Mercutio hated to be alone. Fiery, beautiful Mercutio. Foolish, beloved Mercutio...   
Benvolio wished he could hate Romeo. Because Benvolio knew what Mercutio had not - that Romeo knew of his feelings. And was scared by them. Like a child. But fear did not make him refuse the comfort friend's skin and touch. This made Benvolio's heart clench - why did not Mercutio open his eyes? Romeo - his cousin, his friend - the one whose ill-fated love brought misery to all. Romeo, blind to all that was not his sweet-faced Juliet. Benvolio bitterly wished that their love was worth it. Oh, how he resented the selfish acts of young Romeo – how vain, for he would have done all this himself. He did it all. For Romeo, he had lied to his family, to his friends. For Romeo, he endured to see his friend's heart crushed again and again in silence. This time, his silence was an accusation dyed in pain. Because Benvolio was an observer and as such, he saw all. He saw how desperate Mercutio was when he kissed Romeo – finally taking without a care. And it made his vision blur – his body curled on the floor. Romeo did not understand. All Romeo saw was Juliet, and Mercutio's kiss forgotten. Foolish Romeo, blind Romeo...  
Maybe another knew – Tybalt. Angry, hissing Tybalt. A Prince of Cat aptly named. Benvolio did not bear him any personal ill-will, no matter the feud. They were set against each other but he only watched. Tybalt fought and Benvolio simply watched, only intervening when Death was looming. Looking, Benvolio understood more than anyone would have. Protectiveness wrapped in rage like an ill-bandaged wound. Mercutio was a bruise, Tybalt was a wound – both festering under skin. Benvolio wished he could hate Tybalt but he did not have the strength to. Not even now – because it was Tybalt's blade and Romeo's arm. Because he had seen, through the breathless moment of dread, the shock on his face. Mercutio was not supposed to be extinguished. And Benvolio did not know if he should bless Tybalt or curse him – bless him for unwittingly freeing a dying man – curse him for tearing his own heart out of his chest with one stroke. In a way, Tybalt was closer to Mercutio than both would have anticipated or accepted. Benvolio could not curse, his voice stuck in his throat as Tybalt was silenced as well. Maybe they could have been friends in another life. A life without names to bear or feuds to bleed for. Rest in peace, restless Prince.  
Still Benvolio watched in silence. Watched in silence as Romeo unknowingly discarded him from Mercutio's side in his last moments – and how it had hurt. The last touch – his hand on stone cold skin. His tears were bitter – and Mercutio would tell him not to cry, because really, only fools did. And Benvolio was no fool. So he watched the light of Mercutio covered in bier and he could not look at Escalus – could not look at anyone as his only love lied in the dirt. A watcher, Benvolio never voiced his feelings and he wished he had. Speaking to a grave man was not the same. Once more Benvolio watched, from afar, as Tybalt's body was laid in the dark embrace of the earth. Proud, fiery Capulet forever stilled and at peace. Punished for a sin – and no one knew which. Once, Benvolio would have had understood – a protectiveness however misguided. But Tybalt was alone – Juliet went away – sweet Juliet whom her cousin finally greeted past the gates. Benvolio watched again as Romeo and Juliet laid together under a dais of stone – and Paris forgotten, mourned by the Prince of Verona alone. Benvolio could only watch and he ignored the pained cries that clawed at his throat – unseen wounds covered his skin and tore him apart. In silence, he now stood watch under a metaphorical sycamore – real pain soothed by sweet-faced lies.  
His end was not near, the only witness – a living memory in his breast and all the secrets he knew. Little and great, dangerous or innocent, the knowledge of Verona's sacrificed youth. Only when he had no one to look for did silence break – his words parched – his voice rough from misuse. Only then would he recount – only then could he feel again. Wondering and dreaming – _what ifs_ building protective walls against the world – he was not alone. Not alone, if only in spirit.


End file.
